“How does Michael fit into this? He’s a drug addict. He tried smuggling drugs, he got caught. He’s not a sex offender. He’s got nothing to do with your story.”
Toscana rushed back to Brad’s chair. “Weren’t you listening? Why don’t you understand? Michael was going to screw up people’s lives with the drugs he was smuggling. He was no different from the others. His uncle used his connections as the mayor to get his nephew released. That’s bullshit. It’s another flaw in the system. A flaw I exposed. No sense restricting myself to just sexual predators. Any predators. Like the first drug dealers.”
Brad shook his head and sneered. “I have to give you credit.”
Toscana’s head jerked back in surprise. “For what?”
“There are few female killers. You’ll be famous. They’ll write books about you.” A grin played at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe a movie. They could get Kathy Bates to play your role. She does pure evil well.”
“She’s hardly a goddess.”
Brad laughed. “Yeah, well, I was kidding. You’re hardly a goddess. Just a pathetic murderer.”
She strode over and swung her foot. It connected with his jaw.
Brad spit blood and a tooth. He swirled his tongue around his mouth. “I was going to get that tooth pulled, anyway.” He spit at Toscana’s feet. “It was hard for you the first time, wasn’t it?”
“He needed to die.”
“But you had trouble doing it. Hesitation stabs—just like in suicides.” He raised his eyebrows and snorted. “Lack of guts. It’s harder than you think, jamming in the knife. Lots of resistance. The muscles are tough, trying to shove the knife up and back.” He glared directly into her eyes. “Maybe too hard for you to do?”
“Go to hell, Coulter.” Toscana’s shoulders shook with rage.
“Did you have nightmares after that? Do the others you’ve killed haunt you?” His eyes widened. “At night, do they visit? They should.”
“Shut up,” Toscana screamed. “You think you’re the golden boy? How many have you killed? They make you a hero for doing the same thing.”
Brad snorted. “I hardly think it’s the same, princess.”
Toscana’s voice rose, as redness crept up her neck. “Killing is killing. We’re the same.”
“Not even close.” Brad laughed. “You’re thoroughly fucked up.”
“Shut up!” She stepped forward. Her fist connected with Brad’s jaw and his neck jerked to the right.
He shook his head, spit blood, and grinned. “Not bad for a girl.”
She swung again. This time the force jerked his head to the side, and the chair toppled to the floor.
Brad struggled on his side. The punches got his blood circulating. He was less chilled. Or he was well into hypothermia.
With the last punch, he’d thrown his bodyweight onto the frame of the wooden chair. He’d heard the frame crack but didn’t think he’d done significant damage. The ropes were still secure. He had little wiggle room. Shit. He’d need another punch. “That one was better. Maybe you need to get back to the gym. Try putting your hips into the swing.”
Toscana grabbed the chair, jerked it upright and grinned. “I can do this all day. Do you think you can handle it?”
“Give it your best, Barbie.”
This time Toscana used the butt of the gun. He felt a crack in his jaw. Brad pushed off with his legs as Toscana made contact, launching the chair into the air and landing hard five feet away. He screamed out as his back slammed into the floor. If he didn’t have some wiggle room now, he wasn’t sure he could handle another blow. This time, Toscana left him groaning on the floor.
Chapter Seventy-One
Briscoe oversaw the street cops surrounding the building. His men would snag anyone trying to escape.
Steele led one TSU team while Zerr led the other into the mattress factory.
Knowing Briscoe had their backs, Steele and Zerr split, taking their teams right and left.
Steele’s team stayed close to the left wall. Their flashlights illuminated a tiny portion of the warehouse. Mice scattered in the beams, scrambling from one pile of garbage to another. The stench grew stronger the farther into the warehouse they got. Rotting food, human feces, sweat and body odor. Steele rubbed his runny nose with the back of his glove. Even the cold didn’t lessen the odor. He swung his flashlight to the right, and several pairs of red eyes peered back. “Police. Show me your hands.”
Several other flashlights swung toward Steele’s beam. A half-dozen men peered out from behind cardboard boxes.
“We ain’t done nothin’, Officer. We’re just trying to survive the cold.”
“How many of you are here?” Steele asked.
A man with long silver hair and a beard crawled out of a box. “Eight.”
Steele swung his flashlight over the boxes. “Anyone else here?”
“Sure, there’re guys all over. Every floor.” Men slid out of the boxes all over the room. “Small groups, you know. We watch over each other.”
Most of the men wandered over to Steele.
“Have you seen anyone who doesn’t belong here?” Steele shouted.
There were murmurs all around, but no one came forward.
The old guy shrugged. “People come and go.”
“I mean, not homeless. Dressed well?”
“Nope, ain’t seen that.”
Steele panned the room with his flashlight. Men shook their heads.
“Okay. Thanks for your cooperation.”
Steele waved his team forward. They headed deeper into the warehouse. They came across five additional groups of men. None had seen any strangers. Zerr radioed that they’d had the same experience.
Steele’s gut said this was a waste of time. They were in the wrong place. Every second they wasted here was a second Brad was closer to death.
Steele’s team met up with Zerr near the back of the main floor of the warehouse. Voices were coming from a room in the corner. Low at first, then they grew louder. The voices were muffled, and it was impossible to understand what they were saying, but
